


To Walk Away

by ambivalentlangst



Series: Into His Fold [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Gen, Iron Dad, May Heavily Referenced, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strangulation, Tony's POV, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivalentlangst/pseuds/ambivalentlangst
Summary: Tony has stared death in the face and snubbed his nose at it, but he'd give himself over a thousand times if it got strong hands off of Peter's shoulders. If it kept him from bargaining with freedom he doesn't have. If it kept him from sayingfather.





	To Walk Away

**Author's Note:**

> _Wow,_ what a reception. I don't know what I was expecting and I posted the first part of this, but the overwhelming comments and kudos and love so many people showed this fic and this idea means the world to me. I wasn't really sure when I started if this idea would be continued, but due to popular demand and the fun I have with it, I guess I'll keep going. Thank you to everyone who interacted so kindly with the first part of this fic—it means the world, and I hope you enjoy the second part just as much!

Tony Stark sat on Titan and felt the wound in his gut pulse with barely contained gore. Tony Stark sat on Titan with his chin in his hands and tried not to scream. Tony Stark didn’t  _ do  _ screaming, didn’t  _ do _ crying, and certainly didn’t  _ do _ failure. Tony Stark sat on Titan and wondered if this couldn’t be classified as failure, what was?

 

The sky was the color of rust overhead, the color of burning sand mingled with his own blood. Tony swallowed dryly in a manner that felt far too similar to how he had in the desert, and he tried to remember that he could get up anytime he liked. He wasn’t one of the ones who had faded to ash, staring in horror at friends, family. No, he had been there to hold Peter— _ his kid _ —while he begged him to save him from nothing that Tony could control. Since when was anything out of his control? Oh, he was kidding himself, when was the last time anything was within it?

 

Where the hell did that little punk get off anyway, thinking he could apologize to him? For what? For having the biggest heart and smile Tony had ever seen in his life?  _ Bullshit. _

 

Tony felt anger and grief and something disappointed and hot and painful within him, but mostly he felt the strong grip of a blue woman who had been shouting at him for the past five minutes dragging him back to her ship.  _ “Men,”  _ she growled under her breath, and Tony could admire the pure spite running through her tone. He could do with some good old fashioned spite at the moment.

 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m a little busy thinking about how I’m gonna’ explain all this back home,” he snapped, but the remark didn’t stop her from toting his shock ridden self across the dirt of a planet gone extinct. He had meant to cover up all of the pure emotion running through his head with his normal snark, but the stubborn little shit Tony often referred to as his conscience reminded him of a tiny apartment that was home to two people who had already lost so much.

 

God, how was he going to explain this to May?

 

_ “Sorry, your nephew followed me into space to fight a purple mass murderer and now he’s—” _

 

Tony slammed the breaks on that train of thought. There was still dust on his hand, dust that really wasn’t dust but it was all Tony had left so he tried to cling to it anyway. He let the woman pull him into the cabin and put his ass in a chair, but he told her he was a big boy who could do his seatbelt by himself. She looked annoyed and for a second Tony thought she might go ahead and toss him out of the ship she’d worked so hard to shove him into, but she looked out the window and gritted her teeth. Tony, master button pusher, would never admit that he was grateful that she wouldn’t deal with his shit. The ship took off, and Tony put his head back in his hands.

 

He’d been tired for a long time.

 

The woman—Tony hadn’t asked her name, but she didn’t ask his, so that was fair—kept the ship on a steady course, though Tony had never told her where Earth was. She appeared to already possess coordinates, and he was still trying to get himself back to normal, so he didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need Cap or Wanda or anybody else wondering about what he’d been up to or where he’d been in the time since Tony’s best friend slammed his shield into Tony’s arc reactor and his insect pal sent his kid flying into some not-so-soft crates.

 

_ That was better than this. _

 

Tony’s hand tightened on his armrest, and he recounted the method one of his therapists after Afghanistan had taught him for clearing his head.

 

They were in the solar system, passing Pluto when Tony felt his hand grow hot, even under the suit. It burned, leaving black marks on the metal while Tony hissed in pain.

 

_ What the hell? _ __  
  


Tony opened his palm to see a vortex of color, churning and frothing where Tony’s white-knuckled grip held what was left of Peter. It was all he had of his laugh, still ringing through his ears, all he had left of his kindness and cheer and dumb references that Tony would never be able to tease him about again. He tried desperately to hold on, force his suit, tired and ravaged as it was, to cling to what it could.

 

Tony felt his skin blister and burn, felt it sting and smelt it acrid in his nose. He didn’t care. He’d already lost him once, he couldn’t give up what little he managed to save. Whatever it was trying to steal Peter away didn’t care. A final pulse of light and heat threw him to the floor, and the lights in the ship went out. Tony panted on the ground, tears springing to his eyes from the pain (he’d never admit that they might’ve been there from anything other than pain), and tried to convince himself he could still see dirt— _ not dirt— _ on his suit. He heard the woman yell and punch the wall.

 

Tony couldn’t be bothered caring.

 

The woman managed to get the ship working again with a groan and shudder of reluctant machinery. A slower, choppier ride than the one they were having previous ensued, but it was a ride nonetheless and Tony was too numb to complain. 

 

Tony didn’t ask how she knew where to land, though judging by the scans he’d snuck glances at she went off of where the most energy had recently been released on Earth. The pod landed about as gracefully as the donut had on Titan. Tony didn’t let himself think about the fact that he was the only surviving member of the people he’d made that descent with, and even those that they gathered along the way. He threw his shoulders back and reminded himself that he could break down later in the comfort of his own damn property. There was no time for grief, no time for emotions, no time for Tony Stark to be anything less than Earth’s best defender.

 

They climbed out of the pod with their respective hacking and stumbling, ignoring the blood seeping from each of them from a million different tiny cuts, and one considerably larger in Tony’s case scenario. Tony pulled himself to his feet and shook his head gruffly. He was ready to tell the woman that he was going to try and find out where everybody else was, send out some distress signal he’d probably have to find the tech for in the remains of their smoking ship, before her metal hand gripped his wrist harshly and pointed a mile or so from where they were, up a small hill. “Thanos.” 

 

Tony was continually impressed with the amount of venom and pure, unadulterated hatred she could shove into what few words she said, or rather, snarled. He looked down at the one functioning blaster he had on his hand. It’d have to do. In doing so, he very purposely ignored his palm, burnt and smarting in the air painfully as he got ready to fire.

 

The blast went off without a hitch, but the force of it seemed to freeze in the air, moving with impossible lack of speed. Tony had used the same thing to take out all sorts of intergalactic douche bags, but Thanos stepped out of the line of fire with almost pitiful ease. Tony forced his thrusters to activate, carrying him over to the titan, finally allowing sentiment to cloud his judgment.

 

He heard Peter’s voice at the beginning of it all, faint and worried that he wouldn’t catch him, echoing in his ears. He remembered his dumb plan that really wasn’t dumb, and that he was proud of him for having because it saved their asses. He remembered yelling at him and the little note left by the Vulture—why hadn’t he known then that he was too kind, too good for this?

 

Tony’s anger wrapped its strong jaws around his poor excuse of a heart and sunk its teeth in. He embraced it.

 

Thanos held out a hand, and Tony’s thrusters died. He fell to the ground in a heap, FRIDAY gone silent and his suit dark. Tony tried to struggle to his feet but heard Thanos’ deep voice murmur to something that wasn’t him. That was infuriating. Thanos didn’t get to ignore him, not after what he’d taken from him. He drew back a fist to slam it squarely into his stupid, purple face and was driving it home when he saw a pair of big, petrified brown eyes staring him dead in the face.

 

Tony felt pain blossom in his chest, sharp and bright and suffocating. The reality stone, it had to be, but when the momentum of the blow had his knuckles catching Peter harshly across the cheek with enough force to send him flying, it felt far too real. He stumbled back.

 

Peter could not be here, Peter was  _ dead  _ and it was  _ Tony’s  _ fault so why was he here of all places, at Thanos’ side?

 

Tony gritted his teeth and whipped around to stare at the titan, who watched Peter sprawl on the ground passively. “As I said, Peter. Your father is not the one who can unlock your potential.” 

 

Tony stared, his mind making a feeble attempt at processing the development. The burn on his hand, previously bearable, lit up agonizingly. “What the hell are you doing with my kid?” Tony wanted his voice to be dangerous, deadly. He sounded like he’d just got the wind knocked out of him, and couldn’t quite remember how to breathe. Peter wasn’t moving, which made sense because he was  _ dead  _ but not dead enough to keep himself out of harm’s way, apparently. 

 

Thanos chuckled, and Tony felt a rush of relief at seeing Peter’s fingers curl, taking a poor shot at trying to push himself up. “Mr. Stark, that one really packed a punch,” he groaned, crawling to his knees and flashing a smile despite the blooming aubergine on his pale cheek. Helplessly, Tony found the corners of his mouth curling.

 

Tony experienced approximately two seconds of relief before his body locked in its place and he felt something like a chokehold wrap around his throat, which was only made more disconcerting by the fact that there was most definitely  _ not  _ anything on his neck. 

 

Tony gagged, and saw Peter’s face fall, eyes sliding past him to Thanos. “Hey, stop it, stop it!” Peter cried, rushing forward. Tony tried to reprimand him.

 

_ Don’t charge the psychopathic mass murderer, Peter. _

 

It came out as the deformed hybrid of a grunt and a particularly passionate sigh. Tony vaguely realized from some part of him that wasn’t affected by his rapidly blackening vision that Peter wasn’t listening.

 

His kid was shoving Thanos, who treated him like a fly he wasn’t feeling up to swatting. “Quiet, my child. Allow me to do as I wish.” 

 

Their conversation was slurring in Tony’s ears, who was doing his best to cling to consciousness.

 

“No!” Tony was aware that Peter was shouting, but could only make out snatches of his terrified pleads. “Please—I’ll go—let him—father.”

 

Tony felt air rush into his lungs and bent over hacking as his body did its damnedest to change that. The sound of a vague struggle followed, but Tony was left to his own devices to recover. By the time he could breathe without too much effort and his vision had cleared, the space woman was suspended mid-leap with her blade drawn, and Thanos had his hands resting on Peter’s shoulders, the juncture of where they met his neck.

 

A cold feeling went down Tony’s spine, seeing Peter’s bent head with Thanos standing behind him. There was something so fundamentally  _ wrong  _ about it, the lack of ill intent, and the way Peter trembled in his grasp. Tony’s view of the situation shifted, clearing in a suddenly much more dangerous and urgent light.

 

It was one thing to be up against someone who wanted to see you dead. It was another entirely to be hurt by someone who said they cared.

 

_ A video in a Siberian bunker, a fist slamming into his suit and into his head so many times he lost count. _

 

“Let the kid go, Thanos.” 

 

Peter flinched, and Tony watched Thanos rub his shoulder like it was meant to  _ comfort  _ him. “Stay away, Tony Stark. Peter has made a play for your safety, but if you continue to antagonize me, I make no promises, not even to my child.” 

 

Peter shuddered but didn’t deny the statement. “Just go, Mr. Stark. I’ll be fine.” Peter offered up his stupid smile, the one he gave him when he was lying through his teeth and didn’t want him to say anything about it. 

 

Tony took a step forward, reaching for him. “Kid, I _ — _ ”

 

“Go.” His voice was soft, pleading. When Tony looked to his eyes he saw fear, pupils blown wide. He was screaming  _ help  _ in every way he could that Thanos couldn’t reprimand him for, and it broke Tony’s heart. He couldn’t leave him, his kid and his protege and one of the only people who loved Tony unconditionally even when he was at his worst. Even like this, Tony managed to be selfish, he thought bitterly, and hated himself for it. Expression set, Tony fired up his blasters again and aimed a shot right at Thanos. “I’m not letting you leave again, kid.” 

 

Peter had gone limp and pliable under Thanos’ grasp, who ran a hand through his hair and turned him away while the blast dissolved mid-air, useless just like all of Tony’s efforts were, in the end. “Come, Peter,” he directed him, and out of the kid’s line of sight, clenched his fist.

 

Tony choked on the memory of Peter’s quick nod and two little words that followed. “Yes, father.”


End file.
